Connor steadied his breath, studying a werewolf-earned scar on his bare shoulder as he tried to cast aside other remnants of the past, remnants that could not join them in the bed tonight. Her near-whispered statement almost an apology, and even that, more than the former mistress would have deigned to utter. That it wasn't, that, along with the memories, was what had garnered a visit to the rules. Rules were crucial; rules were what made his household work. Rules. And loyalty so deep it was bloody. He stared at himself in the mirror, the pinched lines around his eyes reading of exhaustion, frustration, anger, regret.
He slid his belt from its moorings and undid the top button of his slacks, weighing every word. He'd been careful, the anger at his own ghost of a failure straining even now to escape, but he'd been careful. None of it should have been directed at the tiny thing bruised and not-broken on his bed. If his lecture had gotten loud, it was because he'd needed to make a point. Piper had to learn sooner, rather than later, where she stood. Where he wanted her to stand. His fingers flexed on the counter, and he found his teeth bracing too, baring back at him in the mirror when she finally spoke.
Trash. One fist clenched atop the counter. Far from trash, far from a body in a gutter, where she would have ended if not this very night than one quite soon. But her next words, they made him cold. His lungs felt the brush of ice, staggering to a halt as she bravely called him out on his threat, twisting it around with fear-words and derision. He turned, his forearm supporting his lean against the doorframe. Solemn green eyes took in the waif-like form currently burrowed into the center of his bed, a tragic sort of picture at odds with her words.
"Worthless? You are like the deepest, blackest diamond," he said quietly into her silence, a line borne of truth, his and hers. "A gem that sparkles only when put to light." And such light. Such fire. Connor felt it in his gut, knew she'd shine if they could one day come to terms with what had happened to her.
He held up his other hand, turned it palm up. "There was another woman years before you. She sought to be mine," he began, clearing his throat. Explaining, returning there, because she'd asked. She needed. "She shouldn't have bothered. She wanted money, status, things that she would have been better to get from another man. I need...no, it doesn't matter. She was hateful, like them, in little ways that cut like daggers. She turned our home to poison around us with each snub, each word spoken without respect, each order given without consideration for personal cost or undermining effect. It's slow, a destruction like that, hardly a torture-fuck in the dark, but no less brutal when the scales are filled."
Words carved out the soul, could either mend it as well as a healer's touch or shred it with carelessness and evil. Piper was not evil. Her insult hadn't been a calculated weight to add to a breaking point. Just more fear. He made a fist, rubbed a spot under his collarbone, not quite over his heart. "You are correct; Ransom did not hear you. But to let insult lie--then I would not be filling my own role, and you would be ignorant of our rules here."
Shoving himself back into the bathroom he brushed his teeth while she chewed on his lecture, part two. He was shuffling through the cabinet for a wrapped toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste for Piper when she exploded. He squeezed one in each fist as he filled the doorway again. Shoving down the anger, though it had to be visible in the tension that rode his muscles. Her vision of what he had, what they could have...she'd warped it so utterly that for the first time Connor felt an edge of doubt. Come morning, she'd still see the same things. Come the Tailor, she'd have an even lower opinion of his values, he was certain. But this could only continue in a circular pattern. Piper needed time. Distance from the terrible actions taken against her. Space to heal, though by acknowledging that Connor only conceded to space within his home, not space from himself.
Setting her straight, especially in her present condition, was only going to prolong their argument, neither caving on either side, anger building until it either sputtered out or he wound up downstairs sparring. And Connor didn't want to spend the night with his guards. He wanted to soothe the rough edges in his chest by holding the shaking, terrified woman in his arms.
Which would almost certainly make things worse, and he didn't fucking care.
"It's late," he said abruptly, finally, her last spewing of words sitting between them for too long. "Did you care to brush your teeth, or would you rather I just turn out the lights so you can sleep?"
Dictators didn't give choices.
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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